Beautiful Disaster
by threeletterwords
Summary: A brief bit of angst... undiluted and, well. Angsty. Revolving around Reid's drug addiction post elephants memory. Morgan finds Reid after he falls off the wagon. Also, not a songfic, although I understand my title has been used already...
1. Chapter 1

"No. No, no, no." His fist fell heavily against the wall outside his apartment with every word. And every time... his voice became softer and weaker with the sobs that caught in his throat. Spencer battled the raging headache that muffled his usually clear cut thoughts. He couldn't do this. But god did he want to. One hand slid into the front pocket of his messenger bag, searching for the achingly, horribly familiar shape of the tiny vial of the liquid that paralyzed him. That destroyed him, and broke him. It tore down the carefully assembled fortress that guarded his mind... rampaged through his veins. And it was so terribly, wonderfully, painfully addictive. He hungered for it. He needed the sting of the needle. Needed the escape from this nightmare. And being the realist he was, his mind objected. He hated it. He couldn't... but his mind faltered and broke under pressure. How He wished it worked flawlessly. That with sheer will he could resist like rational thought begged him to...

But his body loved it, craved it. Welcomed it with open arms. He wasn't strong enough to refuse it's seductive voice. And he knew that he fought a losing battle. In the end... he would get lost in that world. Caught up in a place where he could finally, mercifully forget. But it wasn't for free. And when he woke he would have to fight that pain. Push away that addiction and ignore it's siren call. It would return. In full force it would haunt him. beg him to take it. It would forever be whispering in his ear... teasing him. And it wouldn't let up. he didn't think it ever would. His only way out-his only release... And his vice. The terrible reminder that he wasn't faultless. That he was pitiful and weak. But he couldn't live without it.

He tried to soothe the raging battle of mind body and soul. He could resist. He could! he closed his eyes and lay his forehead against the cool surface of his door. Sighing, he removed his hand from the beautiful disaster that was dilaudid, and instead pulled out his keys. He had been clean for 10 months. Completely. But Owen... Owen Savage had caused him more pain than he cared to admit. That he felt for him... for an unsub... what does that say about him? The keys slipped once. Twice. a third time in his sweat slicked hands. He brought them to the key hole shakily, and after fumbling for a few minutes, the door swung open to grant him entry. Sighing again, he dropped his messenger bag on the floor and dropped his keys on the table by the door, raising his hands to his head, and rubbing slender fingers against his temples. He shook his head against the need clawing at him.

"No."

He really had to stop talking to himself. But he felt that the situation warranted a definitive refusal. Out loud. So it would make it real. He poured himself a glass of scotch and took a long sip. he wanted to ease the pain. but not with a method that would destroy him. He glanced over at the harsh glow of the red numbers on his microwave. 1 AM. Throwing back another sip, he padded over to the adjacent room, and sunk into the couch. squinting his eyes shut against the pain that threatened to envelop him. The ring of his phone, triggered a pain that shot through his skull. He cried out in pain, clutching at his head agin. God. It was terrible. He ignored his caller and gritted his teeth against the temptation. no. No. NO. he... he...

in a split second, his resolve broke, and he shot up from his chair. He walked swiftly to the bag he had discarded at the door without a thought, and rammed his hand into the pocket, fishing for his release... with a triumphant cry, he threw the bag aside and placed the bottle on his kitchen counter, going quickly to the cabinet next to his tv and throwing aside book after book, papers flying down to the hardwood. He yelled in frustration, wreaking havoc on his apartment. desperately searching. Finally his shaking hands pulled out a small wooden box... inside which was a tourniquet and needle. He grabbed the bottle from the counter and threw himself back onto the couch, his eyes trained upon the bottle. A piece of himself fell away with every movement he made in the following few seconds. His rational mind screamed and yelled at this stranger, shook at the cage he'd been locked in moments before, held captive as the addict in him took over. His eyes wild, he filled the needle with the skill and ease of a junkie. And his inhibitions slipped away in this temporary fix, his eyes glazed over and a whiff of a smile graced his lips, as he injected the drug into his arm. His old friend. A forgotten companion. A barrier disappeared, and the dam broke. He relinquished his intelligent, conscious self to a hazy imitation of who he really was. A shadow. A man who killed himself slowly... And he fell into unconsciousness. Poison pumping through his blood.

But something was wrong.

Something that would be the end of Dr Spencer Reid.

"Damn it, go faster. faster!" Derek Morgan honked impatiently at the minivan in front of him, slamming his hand against the steering wheel aggressively. He couldn't wait this long. He had a feeling he knew what was on the kid's mind as he had left the BAU, and he just wanted to help him. To save him before he did something so drastic that he hurt himself... Damn. Morgan couldn't take it if he wound up in a hospital bed again. Garcia couldn't. JJ... the team couldn't. Couldn't watch him tear himself apart again. They wouldn't. And if it was permanent... God. Derek didn't want to consider the possibility that Spencer had permanently screwed himself up. That he had finally done something he couldn't recover from. He won't always rebound. It's a painfully real possibility that one day... Reid will just- go too far. And die. Morgan shook his head viciously against the thought, effectively chasing away that line of thought. he could be overreacting. Spencer could just be upset about the case... just be recovering in his own way. He hoped to god that was the case, and that Reid hadn't done something stupid. Considering he was a genius... he got into a lot of trouble. Morgan spun the wheel hastily to the right, turning sharply and easing over the speed limit. He so wanted to be there for the kid in case he decided that practical means of comfort... or escape- Weren't enough. They all knew. And he knew they did. It was an awkward situation. No one had out right said that they knew anything about his addiction, but it was always looming over them. A year long game of chicken. Not one of them had reported him. They couldn't. He was family, you know? Derek sighed. He was out there, hurting. Maybe passed out from drugs... he couldn't know. The fact that he wasn't there was painful in itself. The simple fact that Reid was alone and grappling with this thing on his own... grasped at his heart and threatened to squeeze. With a glance to his right, Morgan was filled with a particularly exquisite brand of relief. The dark outline of Reid's apartment building came into view.

"Hey... hey! Hold the door!" Morgan jogged forwards and flashed a grin at the young woman holding the heavy glass door open for him. She smiled flirtatiously and let him by.

"Any time." He didn't catch her wink as he ran up the stairs. He didn't have time for banter with a complete stranger. He had to be sure... Finally he stopped at the door on his left numbered 37, and banged on the door.

"reid? Reid come on man, I know you're in there. Reid? Open up man!" He knocked continuously. Then he tried the door knob. Strangely enough... it was unlocked. Reid knew better, especially since he had become an FBI agent... with the cases they've seen... you couldn't sleep comfortably without your doors and windows locked up tight. A good security system's always good too. Brow furrowing in worry, Morgan opened the door a fraction, trying to peer inside. He was met with complete darkness. The crease in his forehead deepened, and he stepped hesitantly inside.

"Reid?" He felt around on the wall to his right, searching for a switch, he flicked one on a few moments later and glanced around the room. It was empty... save a near empty glass of scotch on his kitchen counter. Morgan sighed in disappointment.

"no- no no no no no. Come on man. Your drinking? Reid. Reid?" He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, fear encroaching on his mind, and making his thoughts twist together. He moved quietly around the room, searching the kitchen then... oh god. Oh god no.

"reid? REID! Oh no. Oh nononono. reid, why man? why... Come on wake up. wake up dammit!" He had rushed to Spencer's side as soon as he saw him. The young man lay sideways, his hair falling in disarray across his forehead, his complexion an unhealthy white, and the darkness under his eyes a deep grey. But it wasn't the sickly look of him that caught his eye. It was the needle protruding from the crook of his elbow- drained of multiple grams of dilaudid. Morgan shook his young friend gently, his mind racing.

"No man. No. You can't leave us, you hear me? garcia will be so pissed at you. Come on man! You gotta... you gotta wake up... got it? You..." Tears dropped down on Reid's face, splashing on his colourless cheeks. It was only then that Morgan realized his vision was blurred... his head clouded with panic for the kid. God... he was only 26. only... No. he's still 26. And he'll live for his 27th birthday. Morgan grabbed the man by the top of his arms and half carried, half dragged him to the door, willing him to awaken and be okay. But the man was unnaturally still and cold. And It killed Morgan.

"If you don't wake up. I will kick your ass. Got it?"

Hotch appeared around the corner of the Emergency room, striding towards his younger colleague, his eyes flashing with fear.

"Morgan." he looked up at the mention of his name, his expression clearly tormented... eyes mirroring the fear in his own.

"How bad?" Morgan just sighed in response, motioning to the kid. He had been brought in mere minutes ago, and had just now been transferred to the table in the trauma room. It was a hub of activity in the room, nurses and doctors huddled around him, working desperately at reviving him. When the doors swung open the two men caught fragments of words like 'not breathing' and 'intubate' before they swung shut again. It was a waiting game, and they had the privilege of watching their friend flatline before they brought him back. Nurses were attaching multiple tubes and wires to him, electrodes stuck to his chest. He had been changed into a gown, and tubing had been hooked up to the tube down his throat, pumping air into his lungs. Reid looked far too pale to be alive. And the agents knew all too well what his odds of survival were. How could he do this to himself? Far too much time had passed. The agents were losing hope. falling into the pit of despair they'd worked their way out of after Elle and after Georgia. Reid was going to die. They faced the painful possibility. Morgan couldn't hold back his rage and slammed his hand into the wall. His face contorted in anger.

"I can't believe this! Reid did nothing to deserve this! Some psycho drugs him, and he dies because of it. TWICE. twice hotch!"

"Morgan."

"And even if they can bring him back now, he'll have to deal with this forever, the bastard Henkel is haunting him from beyond the grave..."

"morgan!"

"I can't believe this... Reid... he never did anything to anyone. and now... and now..."

"MORGAN."

"What Hotch?"

"He's alive." Morgan's shocked gaze snapped over to the window seperating them from their youngest team member. Morgan broke into a disbelieving smile, not quite daring to believe it. But the doctors were smiling, and the monitors showed a normal rhythm. One of the people in the room broke away from the bunch, and pushed open the doors to the trauma room, greeting the agents with a smile.

"Family?" Before Morgan could say anything Hotch said a definitive yes.

"Alright, I'm Dr. Brighten. Your... friend is going to be okay. He suffered from a heroin overdose, but we got his heart working again, and he should make a complete recovery."

"Should?"

"Well... We have to check for regular brain function." He seemed a little bit uncomfortable at admitting this. Morgan glared at him.

"You mean... it could be irregular?" The doctor looked up at the intimidating looking man and stuttered,

"It's a possibility... y-yes." Morgan slammed a hand against the wall again and Brighten winced.

"Can't you do your jobs right?"

"Morgan." Hotch sent him a warning glance and derek rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Sorry doc. it's been a long day." Brighten relaxed visibly.

"It's fine. A lot of people react that way..."

"Can we see him?"

"Uh... it'll be a few hours until he's up to company... he's not completely stable, and there's no way of knowing when he'll wake up. I'd hold up for a day or two." He nodded to himself then continued.

"He was lucky. Most of the junkies who come through here never make it past this point." He clapped Hotch on the arm, and departed, as Morgan followed him with his eyes. Hotch held him back as he stepped forwards. He used the same warning tone.

"Morgan..."

"I don't like them calling him a junkie Hotch."

"Neither do I."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N ~ I'm afraid it's a little bit short. But I'll try to update with a longer chapter next time, so until then... enjoy!

His eyelids fluttered. Reid winced as a harsh white light met his eyes. He bit back a groan at the sudden pain that shot through his head as he struggled against blinding whiteness. What was happening? He finally mustered enough strength to push his eyelids up about half way, hands immediately shooting to his temples, lightly rubbing circles over them with his index fingers. He figured he was in a hospital. The pristine whiteness of his surroundings, the solitude. He must be. But... there were no monitors to beep incessantly at him. No sterile smell of medications and cleaning supplies. Come to think of it... there wasn't even a door.

Spencer opened his eyes more widely, glancing around the room in confusion. This was unnatural. Everything seemed to give off a faint glow. From the scrubbed walls, to the soft cotton of his sheets, to the undiluted white light that shone through his window. His brow furrowed as he swung his legs over the side of his bed, bare feet meeting smooth Flooring. Strangely, the pain that had rocked his skull had vanished. Looking down, he gave himself a quick once over. Hands were clean. Arms, legs and torso intact. He appeared to be wearing more white cotton. A t-shirt and crisp, ironed pants. This was beyond weird. He stood unsteadily on his feet, and frowned. This wasn't right. If only he could remember what had happened the previous day...

It hit him with the force of an angry bull, and he fell to the ground, clutching at his head and grunting low in the back of his throat, struggling to regain his breath. Another flash of memory and he keeled over further, suddenly pressed against the cool tile of the floor. Cold sweat accumulated at his brow, and another burst of pain forced him into a tightly curled ball. He clenched his jaw and groaned again. He rolled over and struggled for air, gasping.

No... He couldn't be dead... He couldn't honestly have killed himself...

"Morgan! Morgan, please... Hotch. Prentiss? Garcia! Anyone, please, help me. HELP ME!"

He roared his plea to no one. The blank white canvas of his room responded with silence, and his screams echoed back to him, pain and guilt debilitating his subconscious, imprisoned in his own mind, his world a silent and unwelcoming place.

"Damn it Hotch. He's been like that for two days."

It was presently Morgan's shift at the hospital, confined to the depression of Spencer's room... and he'd been trying desperately to summon Reid from the world of the unconscious for five hours to no avail. Garcia would be there momentarily to relieve him from his duties... and the pressing guilt that accompanied them, as he watched his friend fade away. He wasn't sure she'd take it quite as well as Prentiss before him had.

"Yeah? Well I don't care. That's not the only reason I'm on edge! He's integral to this team, and you damn well know it. Are you telling me you're not worried? Well... Yeah, I know. Yes sir. Yeah. Bye." He flipped his cell shut, and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as he scrubbed a hand over his face. He was sleep deprived, and losing all ability to think clearly. He'd been through everything. Tried talking to him. brought stuff from his apartment. Even tried praying. God knows, he wouldn't visit a church unless it was absolutely necassary. Truth was, he couldn't face a world where any member of his team was gone. And... Reid... well, he was responsible for the kid. What if he never woke up? If he was sure of anything, he knew that the team needed Spencer Reid. They needed those obscure statistics, and ramblings about useless and trivial topics. They needed that bit of innocence in a world of terror. Though they would deny it... every member of that team would be a little lost without him.

"Hey stranger."

His eyes shot open and he spun around to face the always vibrant miss Penelope Garcia.

He needed that right now.

"Hey mama. How've you been doing?" Her face fell a fraction and she took a tentative step forwards.

"Derek." Giving up any pretense that she was in an way fine, her lip quivered and she walked slowly forwards, arms extended. He met her halfway, and caught her in his arms, trying not to break down at the sight of tears staining her rouged cheeks.

"I'm so scared for him." His chest seemed to constrict slightly at her words. and he closed his eyes again. What could he do to console her? Lie to her? Tell her everything would be sunshine and daisies from here on out? He had no idea what would happen. So he gave her what he could.

"That kid... is too scared of you not to come back here as soon as he can." She exhaled what might have been a laugh, and tightened her arms around his waist. They stayed that way for a moment, before Morgan pulled gently away.

"Reid's going to be back. He'll be back, and it won't be long before he'll be talking a mile a minute again." She smiled now, patting him on the shoulder lightly.

"That Dr Reid is more flammable, and breakable, and kidnappable than most toddlers." Morgan grinned at the flamboyant tech, and they caught their breath for a second, before facing the inevitable... and turning to the still, white form of their colleague. Garcia rounded the bed to sit in the hard plastic chair next to their resident genius, scooting forwards to brush hair out of his face. She gently lifted his limp hand, clasping it tightly between both of hers.

"Come back here baby boy. Right now. I don't... I don't have anyone else to geek out with. No one 'll get my dorky science jokes... or discuss the classics of sci-fi television with me. No one will make me laugh with their cluelessness. Or smile at their innocence. Are you hearing me? How am I going to figure out cryptic crosswords... or... or... or..." tears fell like rain on their linked hands, and her words slurred more by the minute, her shoulders shaking as she tried to regain her composure.

"Shhh. Shh. It's okay. Penelope... it's all okay." She felt the strong arms encircle her shoulders, and she sobbed harder, Her cries muffled in his tight embrace. A little piece of her heart was coming loose with every minute that the lively chatter of her favorite genius... was missing from her life. She couldn't help but get painful images of a funeral that might someday happen... Or Halloween without his excited voice, and tickets to an obscure, one night only showing of something. Or even the coffee room with an always full canister of sugar.

The pair stayed that way for a long time, finding support in muttered words of comfort... each praying that his life wouldn't be cut short. A breath away, his silent cries went unheard.

A/N ~ Once again, I'm sorry it's short! But you know when something comes to a natural end? That would be what happened here. Didn't want to continue, when it didn't need continuing just yet. Hope it's okay, in spite of the lack of actual development. I hope the white room metaphor wasn't too random. Glad you're liking it anyway... honestly don't know what should happen next... but something will - I won't leave you guys hanging. :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N~ I know. It's been ages. I apologize profusely for my neglect of this story. I love it so much too! Things seem to flow so easily when I write it. But let me tell you, the last few weeks have been ridiculous. Seriously. It's that time of year where everything comes at you at once. And I feel so bad every day I don't update, but I have not had time. And time passes a thousand times faster when you're the author, not the reader. I'm Sorry guys. Enjoy anyway!

Tuesday. Such an ordinary day. Bookended by Monday and Wednesday. A little oasis between that ever painful beginning... and that sham of a day, taunting you with the nearness of Saturday. Tuesday, unlike the complexity of Friday's or Sunday's... was so simple. So... regular. So uninteresting.

And it had become Emily Prentiss's least favorite day of the week.

The day that had blurred with the others as they passed by - had become pure hell, when she was appointed the Tuesday shift.

She simply didn't know what to do with herself. She couldn't bring herself to think too hard about it. She couldn't quite sit still in this room, so like the friend that inhabited it. No, no way in hell was she going to sit and cry at his bedside. She was going to move. This was a message. A message that she should do something. That she should walk, and run and dance while she still had a say in the matter.

No! She wouldn't cry. Not for him. Not again. Everyone expected her to be so strong and level headed. Truthfully, she wanted to rage and scream. Her and Reid had made their peace long ago, and since then... they had become as close as any member of the team.

She could only imagine the pain and suffering her friends had let out in this room. Hours of tears and memories poured down on the poor kid. Memories he couldn't hear. Well. She didn't handle things that way. She couldn't just snap her fingers and feel like that. Couldn't simply will herself to expose that pain. She had spent enough time undercover to know how to hide her feelings, and as long as she kept away from that guilt, and ignored the innocent young face of her friend, she would be fine. Just fine.

She knew how hard it was hitting Morgan though. He had found him. She knew all the if only's. She'd had those exact thoughts run in a loop through her head.

If only I'd gotten their sooner.

If only I could've seen the signs.

If only I'd insisted on coming with him.

If only.

If only.

If only.

And she felt for him. Morgan, by nature, cared. And when it came to Reid, and Garcia... hell, the whole team, that instinct was heightened to the point where he could never let his mind rest. For Derek morgan, there was always something that could've been done. Whether it was on the job or at home, Morgan needed to help someone. For Prentiss... her pain remained silent. She clutched it close to her chest so that no one could pry it from her, or force her to face it. It was safe down there, in the vault of her subconscious, buried deep under lock and key. Though sometimes it threatened to overflow into her conscious mind, it was so full of crap. Like now.

She was barely aware of her actions as she turned towards the bed. She stood at the opposite side of the room, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, posture stiff and unnatural. Her brow furrowed as her legs moved of their own accord, bringing her towards his bedside. She didn't want to be like the others. She didn't know why she couldn't force away her emotions like she had for so many years...

_Of course you do. You love them like your own family... You can't ignore the very real possibility that Spencer could die..._

She shook her head to clear it. Reid. His name was Reid. She didn't call him by his first name at work. Why should she start now? It was silly to think that it made some kind of difference. She finally turned to look at him, as if to search for his agreement on the matter. Her eyes searched his face for the caramel of his eyes. Or the huge grin he donned away from work. But they were lost to an expanse of white. A strange feeling rose in her chest. Why weren't his eyes open?

No. She wasn't going to do this song and dance. There wasn't enough money in the world to make her follow through with one of those cheesy hospital scenes... and yet - that was Reid. Delightfully cheesy. She smiled fondly at him. name suited him far better than Spencer. It somehow encompassed his entire personality, down to the battered messenger bag and mismatched socks. But, as they say... 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' Whatever you call him... he's unique He was endearingly talkative. Oddly intriguing. Was?

She wouldn't do this. She realized now that it wasn't because it was cheesy, or too much like the acts of her team mates.

It was because it was far, far too difficult.

And far too close to goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So I'm Pretty much a jerk. I'm going to spare you the explanations, because everything is just gonna sound like an excuse. Actually, screw that, I want you to love me. :P SORRY. I could tell you how busy I've been, but I can't even... seriously. I've had near constant musical rehearsal, and so much homework, that I feared for my sanity. I've joined an unmanageable number of groups... and, AH. I spend most of my time desperately hyperventilating, and inspiration WOULD NOT COME. Luckily I found this guy buried in my documents. READ. Enjoy. I've actually been caught up in a different fandom, and it's been hard to write this. But... here ya go! Please, please review, it pretty much makes my life, especially when I'm pulling all nighters trying to please my english teacher... (why must that sound so wrong?) It's this beautiful ray of sunshine in my sleep deprived haze. Oh man, I'm one of those rambly authors. Just read the damn thing. :)

His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. The white was blinding now, a bright imprint on his corneas, even as he tried to shut it out. He realized he'd give anything to be free of it. He rocked slowly. If he could ignore the surreality of the world around him, perhaps he could break free. He wondered if this is how his mother felt when he coaxed her from sleep. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to think. He just wanted out.

His throat felt raw from screaming. There was a deep pounding in his head, and the inside of his elbow ached, an unwelcome reminder of a painful truth. That the thing that was supposed to be his release, was supposed to be worth it...

Had imprisoned him.

The price of a desperate bid for freedom from his own twisted mind, was entrapment inside it. And the bill had been presented to him. All he could do was battle the demons that he had been able to lock in the back of his mind, in desperate hopes that he'd be set free.

But now they were roaming free around him.

Now they were rushing to greet him where he had no safe word. Where he was completely and totally exposed to them.

He clapped his hands over his ears to stop the whispers that slipped around him. Mutterings of his fears and failures that remained a constant buzz through the days he'd been trapped here. This was his nightmare. Plain and simple. He was a psych patient. Hiding in his own mind. Trying desperately to be free of the voices.

Many a night, he had woken, screaming, from a look at himself, vacant, hiding in the corner in a straightjacket, talking to people who weren't there. And his subconscious knew it. So it was becoming a reality. With that unsettling thought, his eyelids jerked he heard it.

Clear as a bell. It was Garcia. Speaking to him... as if through a bullhorn. He scrambled to his feet, aches forgotten, and cried out towards the booming of her magnified voice.

"Garcia?" _I'm so sorry baby boy. I've said it before..._She sounded so heartbroken.

"GARCIA? Oh my god... I'm here! RIGHT HERE! Garcia? It's Reid!" He banged on the wall.

"GARCIA!" He banged harder. His palm began to hurt.

"HELP ME! I'm trapped in some sort of... some locked room. I can't get out! PLEASE Garcia!" _Morgan tried really hard. We all... we're all here for you. You better get back here mr. genius. _He began sobbing.

"GARCIA!" He ran wildly at the walls, banging his fists into the indestructible white.

"I AM HERE! I AM!" Tears streamed sloppily, making no mark upon his still pristine clothing.

"WHY CAN'T YOU HEAR ME? PENELOPE!"_Baby Girl._

"Morgan? DEREK, HELP ME!"_I guess that's my cue to leave. See ya babe._

"No. No, no, no. Garcia, come back! Please!" He felt a warm pressure on his forehead, and reached up, brow furrowed in confusion... Still feeling the softness of her lips pressed against his collapsed to the ground again.

"Come back." He listened to the fading of her bubbly voice, and cried. Time slipped by... elusive, immeasurable. He didn't know how long he'd been here, waiting for something he couldn't understand. Every time he felt a warmth wash over him, or a pressure on his hand, or a soft voice calling to him, his hope raised, like a flame that was cranked up to a burn on a stovetop. Only to be extinguished.

Because it was the final taunt, wasn't it?_ Hearing_ their sympathy in his heart, basking in it's glow...

But he couldn't touch. Couldn't see, couldn't reach back for them.

His thoughts tumbled in endless circles. Derek would take over a shift. And at the sound of his voice his thoughts would rocket back to the older man screaming his name. And then he'd be reminded, suddenly, harshly of the godawful thing he did. Of his freaking genius IQ leading him to the stupidest decision he'd ever made. But it wasn't really a decision, was it? Or maybe that's just what he wanted to believe.

It was getting impossible to focus, so great were the emotions building in his chest. They reached a crescendo, his insides roiling in the agony of the hellhole that was his own flawless mind... and then he felt a cold dread seep into his body, and his gaze snapped up... to meet another.

His stomach dropped into his knees, and his lip quivered involuntarily.

"No. No way in hell are you... I refuse to sit here and... and fall victim to my own mind!" The figure laughed, cruel and humourless.

"You always were a stubborn child Spencer." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the onslaught of unwelcome emotion, so heightened here where all he could _do_ was feel.

"I'm not going to have to literally battle my demons, am I, because that's just... that's just... absurd." Another chuckle sounded, slicing through the silence spencer had hoped would be preserved... a sign that he was imagining things. Which... he guessed he was either way.

"I just want to talk. Don't you want to talk to your father?"

"You're not my father."


End file.
